


Ain't That a Kick in the Head

by cliniclyInsane189



Series: Whumptober 2020 [19]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Concussions, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Medical Inaccuracies, Whump, almost certainly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27126766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cliniclyInsane189/pseuds/cliniclyInsane189
Summary: Shelley and newly qualified field agent get injured on a mission together.Shelley is annoyed but has taken a bit of a shine to the newbie - the newbie who is going to bleed out if she doesn't do anything about it.
Series: Whumptober 2020 [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947934
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Ain't That a Kick in the Head

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Whumptober 2020 Day 20 - ‘Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas any more’ - Lost | **Field Medicine** | Medieval  
> Wow, more of this OC. To those who are new, welcome! To those who return, welcome back! I hope you all enjoy!  
>  ~~Also, I am almost certain that the medical practice depicted within isn't actually the best idea, but this is fiction and I was on a tight time-frame.~~

Shelley  _ hated _ being sent on missions with newly qualified field agents. They were either overconfident and reckless or insecure and hesitant - neither of which were suited for the sort of missions Shelley was sent on, alone or otherwise. Those were things that got agents killed, which of course meant that Shelley always had her work cut out for her trying to ensure that  _ that didn’t happen. _

She’d actually got her hopes up with this one - not overly hesitant, yet very willing to listen to instruction and perfectly aware of his lack of experience. Of course, that just made it worse when the mission went to shit.

It wasn’t actually his fault - they’d both been doing exactly what they were supposed to be the entire mission but,  _ apparently, _ the guards at the complex they’d been assigned to infiltrate had been better trained than their intel had suggested.

The motorbike they’d stolen had run out of fuel about half an hour ago, so now Shelley was stumbling through the snow-covered forest, in what she  _ hoped _ was the direction of a safe-house, with a half-conscious, badly injured Agent Daniels leaning heavily against her and a steadily worsening headache.

She tripped over a tree-root and spat out a curse.

Why couldn’t this sort of thing ever happen when they were in a city, or at least within ten miles of a hospital? Why was it  _ always _ in the middle of fucking nowhere?

It was long dark by the time they finally reached the tiny cabin that doubled as a safe-house. Shelley propped Daniels up against the wall, making sure he was aware enough to keep pressure on his wound, while she searched for the key, finding it tucked under a loose board of the dilapidated porch. It took too many tries to get it, her hands shaky and vision blurry.

Would it have been too much to ask that she  _ didn’t _ have a concussion?

She dragged Daniels inside, deposited him too roughly on the couch and went in search of a first aid kit.

When she didn’t find one after half a minute of looking, she grabbed a towel and pressed it firmly to his wound, then slapped him (gently) in the face to make sure he was awake enough to continue doing so himself while Shelley continued looking.

And while she found one, it was not in the least bit suitable for treating the sort of wounds Daniels had suffered. All it contained was a half-empty pack of ibuprofen, a roll of medical tape and a pair of blunt scissors. Clearly, whoever had been here last hadn’t bothered to restock.

Shelley dropped it on the floor beside Daniels and began ransacking the cupboards more indiscriminately, wincing as the bangs and clatters aggravated her already pounding headache.

A medevac would be here in the morning. Eight hours. Daniels would not last that long without intervention.

A few minutes later found Shelley kneeling on the floor beside Daniels, a sewing kit and stack of spare towels on one side of her, a bottle of vodka and bowl of water on the other and the meagre medical kit in front.

The first thing she did was peel away the towel Daniels was holding to the injury, eliciting a hiss of pain from the younger agent.

Good.

That meant he was still conscious.

She took a cup, filled it with water and tipped it over the wound in Daniels’s side. Then she repeated this twice more, until it appeared relatively clean. Seeing it now, it didn’t look as bad as Shelley had feared, though it was still bleeding steadily. At least it didn’t look large enough to have caused any organ damage - that was too much even for her advanced training to deal with.

She doused her hands with vodka, wafted them dry, and probed delicately at the wound, pulling it open a little to see if there was anything stuck in it.

There wasn’t, so Shelley leaned back.

She wasn’t sure how much good stitching it would do, but it was better than nothing, so she grabbed a needle and thread. She would have to leave a portion of it open for the wound to drain, though - better safe than sorry.

“This is going to hurt,” she advised; and was almost proud when Daniels groaned and flipped her off.

Daniels kept admirably still throughout the process and by the time the makeshift stitches were done Shelley’s hands were covered in blood. The wound was still successfully leaking blood, so at least it wouldn’t be building up in there.

She glanced at the medical tape.

Then she grabbed one of the least fluffy looking towels and dropped it on Daniels’ abdomen.

“I’m going to find duct tape,” she said. “Hold that there until I get back. Do  _ not _ pass out.”

“Should be sayin’ that t’ you,” slurred Daniels, nodding to her head. Or, rather, to the large cut he couldn’t currently see on the back of her head that was the source of her concussion.

“Ah, I see I needn’t have worried,” Shelley said dryly, swallowing down a badly timed surge of nausea, and disappeared into the kitchen to find the aforementioned tape, internally berating herself. If it weren’t for this damn head wound she wouldn’t have forgotten the tape in the first place.

She found it, hurried back and began the process of taping towels in place.

Once she was done she washed her hands, grabbed a couple of water bottles from the otherwise bereft fridge, and returned to the main room, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the couch. She pressed one bottle into Daniels’ hand, set the other at her side and pulled out her gun, checked it. Checked her watch.

“Six hours,” she said. “You can hold on that long, right Daniels?”

“You bet,” Daniels managed.

“Good,” Shelley replied, curtly. “Keep talking. We both need to stay awake until they arrive - I am not having you die on me.”

“Got it,” Daniels said. “What… What about?”

“As long as it will keep you going for the next six hours, I really don’t care.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!  
> No idea if Daniels will be showing up in the future but if he does, I'm sure you'll all be the first to know :)


End file.
